


Colours

by thaliachaunacy (thalialunacy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-18
Updated: 2007-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thaliachaunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Luna is overdosed on Veritaserum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Written from a prompt about possible psychadelic effects of Veritaserum. Thanks for [Elucreh](http://elucreh.livejournal.com) for the beta-swoop.

My eyelids are sticky. This in itself is not unexpected, because I can remember that I am in hospital, but I seem to recall being told I’d be fine as soon as I got some attention from the Healers—which they insisted on giving me before my insides had a chance to resettle—and some rest.

And rest I have had, although I’m not sure how many days. Nasty stuff, torture. And constipated Death Eaters like those blokes are the worst sort, really, because they—

Not just sticky, I realize suddenly, as I try to see who’s in the room with me. Wrong. They’re all—they’re moving wrong, my eyes, because they’re not moving at all.

At least, not the way they used to.

My heart thuds once, but I talk it into calming down. _Nothing’s amiss, self. Just blink a few times and everything will be fine._

I blink. I blink again. The walls—the walls stay where they are. They don’t even bend _once_. The floor has no small sprouting flowers, no shimmering waves of heat or cold or—anything.

“Luna?”

Hermione’s voice unsticks my eyelids, at least, but when I look at her, I am startled. Her hair—it doesn’t crackle anymore. It’s just bushy brown Hermione hair.

“We’re—er—glad you’re awake…” Ronald trails off from beside her and looking at him lets me know things really aren’t alright—the small glowing flames that usually flow off his bright mane are absent, leaving him merely awkwardly ginger-haired.

And the bridge between him and Hermione, that beautiful strong connection that’s always there—I can’t see it. I can’t see it and for a moment I desperately wonder if they’ve had a fight—

But no, their hands are clasped together, fingers intertwined tightly. I look to where Harry should be sat, and nearly cry with relief. The darkness that surrounds him, the Boy Who Lived Miserably, is gone. No more shadows on his face, in his eyes, around his perfectly arranged hair. He bears a silver chain around his neck, fiddles with it while I stare at him. That’s new since last I saw him. Or perhaps the darkness had covered it as well.

“Ginny?” I ask hopefully. Harry’s fingers choke the chain.

“We…” Hermione falters. “We couldn’t get her out in time.”

“We don’t know for sure,” Harry says lowly. His voice is full of venom. And pain. I can hear it, it’s so plain. But the colours—the colours aren’t there. And I am more confused than I’ve been in my whole life.

Apparently this is obvious, even to these three who miss so much.

“You don’t…remember?” Hermione asks.

I shake my head. Twice, actually, vigorously, to see if it fixes anything, but it doesn’t, and my chest thumps again. “I remember—stop it, heart—going into a dark amphitheatre? And being surrounded, and feeling rather silly about it when I had just got us the protection amulets from that Nogtail hunter—“ I have to think. “I remember being _Crucio’d_. It hurt quite a lot.” I try to think some more, but blankness fills my head. “After that, I don’t know.”

“You…They got you. You and Ginny.” Hermione’s sounds become more square, more chunky. “I’m not sure how, because we had a tight formation, but they took you both. We managed to discern their Apparition route through a bit of research—“

“Don’t let her fool you,” Ron cuts in. “She was up for nearly three days.” Affection fills me and I expect to see it trail out towards them on a wave…but nothing happens. I can only stare. Hermione clears her throat softly.

“Yes, well, the point is that we found the…hovel…eventually, but only you were there. We took them easily enough, the cowards, but they had a _Kamikazi_ charm set up, so when we began to interrogate them, they disintegrated.” Her lips pinch together, and I see Ronald squeeze her hand. “More like melted, actually. It was rather abhorrent.

“We managed to discover--and the Healers have since confirmed—that they’d been using Veritaserum on you. A _lot_ of Veritaserum. They must’ve—well, with how you normally—put things, they must have thought…”

Harry finishes for her, and I’m surprised once again by his plainness as my eyes jump to look at him. “We’re guessing they thought you were a pathological liar, and that that must’ve meant you had valuable information someone was trying to keep safe.” He’s still fiddling with that chain. It’s shiny. “They must’ve given you fifteen doses. We’re surprised you’re still alive, actually. And not—er—mad.”

I can’t tell if he’s being rude about this or not, because his voice is flat. _None of the colours are there_ , and my eyes start to prickle. “That must be why—I’m seeing things—“ But I can’t finish. The world is so plain around me, it makes the words awkward and hard to find.

Like they must be to everyone else.

The prickling stops. My mouth is hanging open, I should think.

 _Just like everyone else._

Hermione’s speaking, I realize, and I try to listen like everyone else must, to words and not the other things. It’s hard, I find out quickly. Too many muddied possibilities.

“…said you might have some lingering hallucinations. Other than that, they’re not sure what the affects are.”

“How long?” Lingering doesn’t mean forever. Lingering means for a while, then a little bit for a little longer, then maybe a little once in a while. Means I could look, means I could do a little investigating. See what it’s like, just for a while, to be the same as everyone else.

“They don’t know how long. But it’s never been permanent.” Hermione’s voice spins higher, obviously trying to sound upbeat. She is so kind. “It can’t be that bad, really, right? Some funny colours, some odd spinning? That’s what they said, at least...”

Joy thumps my heart again. I remember to smile, this time, so she knows, because if I can’t see the colour of it, neither can she. “Oh no, it isn’t bad at all.”

I beam at all of them. “It is, in fact, going to be quite an adventure.”


End file.
